Life's Strife

Here's a poem that I wrote a long time ago, but which still makes sense to me as a prayer for today.

Life's Strife

O Lord,
Forgive me for striving,
For acting as if I had to earn the love
That you poured out so freely,
Dying on the cross for me.

But also
Forgive me for not striving,
For giving up and giving in,
For yielding up the righteousness
You died to give.

Help me
To rest in your love,
To strive with all that I am
To let your freely given love
Take full control.

Amen

Corners

This poem has gone through a number of versions, but this is its current form.  Still a prayer that means something to me.

Corners

Father, I give you the corners of my life.

The empty corners
Of time that lie scattered through my days.
Once I thought they could be harvested,
Gathered into a gift that would somehow
be big and therefore worthy.
Now I know these moments will remain scattered,
and insignificant.
And I give them to you as a fragrant offering.
Rose petals scattered through my day
For you to walk upon.

The jagged corners
The rough uneven edges of my awkwardness and sin
That scrape and scar the ones my life is meant to bless.
It’s OK if I don’t fit the mold
That you alone know what strangely shaped niche
My life was created for.
But please cut off, sand down the pieces of my life
That catch and tear and wound the ones I love.

The dark corners
Filled with things I try to forget
The hidden places
Do dragons lurk there
Or just some smelly dirty socks
And a piece of forgotten fruit now molded?
Come with your light
Let’s explore and clean
With you beside me, I can vanquish even dragons
And face the mundane and embarrassing scuzz
I’ve strewn throughout my life.

The scary corners
The places where my pathway takes a sudden turn
And I don’t know what dangers lie ahead.
I place my hand in yours
And choose to trust once more
That though I cannot see ahead
No part of my future,
No way I will walk
Is unseen, unknown or unblessed by you.

Father, I give you the corners of my life.

A Song about the Concept of Prayer

I believe that God is infinite, and so I am not really troubled by the idea that God has bandwidth issues.  At the same time, I am sometimes keenly aware of the absurdity of the idea that the God who made the universe actually cares what people have to say. It is not that I do not believe that this is true.  In fact, long before I became a Christian, I found that I was unable to be an atheist because I feel so strongly that when I pray, I am heard.  Someone is listening.  Many years ago, the person who wrote Psalm 8 felt the same way. 

When I look up at the heavens, which your fingers made,
and see the moon and the stars, which you set in place,
4 Of what importance is the human race, that you should notice them?
Of what importance is mankind, that you should pay attention to them,
5 and make them a little less than the heavenly beings?  --Psalm 8:3-4 (NIV)

So it is not that I do not believe that God is listening, that God hears our prayers and cares about us.  It is part of the amazing joyful message of Christianity--God is aware, God cares, God actually wants to talk to us, and be known by us, and in Jesus God paid a stunning cost to make that possible.

Prayer

When I sit and pray to you
Sometimes I feel foolish
Why should I think a king like you
Would listen to me?
The one who set the stars in place
The ground of all our being
Must have one or two
More important things to do
Than listen to a single human’s plea.
But you told us to pray at all times
So here I am praying
For the bread that will feed
Both my soul and my body today
Would you open my heart to the depths of your love
May my life reflect fully your kingdom above
Father God, teach me how to pray.

When I try to hear your voice
Well, there are times I wonder
Is what I’m hearing only me
Or am I hearing you?
I listen for your still, small voice
I hope to hear your thunder
But I’m not a priest or king
Or any special thing
So why would God be whispering to me?
But you said that your sheep hear your voice
So I want to listen
To the word that you spoke for all time
And your word for today.
Would you open my heart to the depths of your word
May your Spirit transform, so I do what I’ve heard
Father God, teach me how to pray.

And a newer version of the video

Some Days

Sometimes Christians talk as if becoming a Christian would solve all of a person's problems forever and ever. It doesn't work that way. This is a song I wrote after hearing a lecture about Frederick Buechner's understanding of grace, but it is a response that came out of my own experience of trying to walk this walk of faith.

Some Days

Some days I feel You; some days I know
Your Holy Spirit moves in me and helps me grow
Some days I have to walk by faith,
And trust in Your unchanging grace.

Some days the pathway disappears
I'm overwhelmed by disappointments and by fears.
Still, winter helps the trees to grow--
Some days there's sun, some days there's snow.

Some days I'm standing in Your flow
Your love pours out and touches everyone I know
Some days it's hard to care at all
My love seems paltry, weak and small.

When I can't see, when I can't feel
There's still a part of me that knows that You are real.
My feelings change from day to day
Some days are bright, some days are gray.

Some days I feel You; some days it's clear
That You use each and every pain and every tear.
Some days I have to walk by faith
And trust in Your unchanging grace.

Do Not Despise the Day of Small Beginnings

Do Not Despise the Day of Small Beginnings
Or why I am not writing a novel

I am not ready
(and may never be)
to run a farm or tend a garden plot.
But I can plant marigolds in coffee cups
and beans in paper towels
And watch six blades of grass sprout joyously from an eggshell head.
It will not stop a famine
Or put dinner on the table
But it may make the children smile--
I'll write as I am able.

A Love Song

Along the lines of continuing to introduce myself, and my approach to songs and music, let me share this one next.

A Love Song

Let me sing for you a love song
About the man who owns my heart
I gave my love to him at seventeen
And he's loved me from the start.
I'm not talking about my husband,
A man I love more every day,
But of the man who died upon a cross
To take my sins away.

And he is King of Kings and Lord of Lords,
The perfect picture of the Father above
He heals the broken heart
He sets the captive free
He holds the world together by the word of his love
Hope of the hopeless
Friend of the poor
Almighty God is he,
Oh, Almighty God is he.

Let me sing for you a love song
About a love that never dies
A love that makes me want to shout for joy
And puts a sparkle in my eyes,
I'm not talking about my husband,
Although his love is deep and true,
But of the God who once became a man,
And loves both me and you.

And he is King of kings,
And Lord of lords
The perfect picture of the Father above
He heals the broken heart,
He sets the captive free,
He holds the world together by the word of his love
Hope of the hopeless
Friend of the poor
Almighty God is he,
Oh, Almighty God is he.

I am here...

To dance, to dare
to belong, to believe, to bare
my soul before my
loving Lord.

To love, to leap
for joy, and to employ
each scrap of wit and wonder,
heart and hand,
in service of my King.

A Poem about Writing Poems

Poems

Let me take the heaps of straw
That sometimes are my thoughts
And spin them into threads of gold
To gleam within the tapestry
Of someone else's life.

Let me take the wordless spark
That's hidden in my heart
And fling it in a ball of words
To light a mighty fire
In someone else's life.

Let me tend silk-worms of hope
That crawl about my mind
'Till they spin word-webs round themselves
And ripen into butterflies
In someone else's life

And poems being what they are
I'll keep what I have given.
There shall be butterflies, and flame,
And shining gold within the halls
Of my own heart and life.